


Hochstetter's Halloween Party - Part Two, Aftermath

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 09:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20964005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: After being outwitted by the crew at Stalag 13, Hochstetter is out for revenge against Sergeant Andrew Carter.  Well, along with making another stab at trying to flush out Papa Bear.





	Hochstetter's Halloween Party - Part Two, Aftermath

Hochstetter knew the basics, remembered his plan to flush out Papa Bear, the 'Halloween' party (at least the first part of it, when things were going so well), and then, nothing, not until he was blinking into the flashlights of the soldiers opening the rear doors to the car he was in. He certainly remembered the dressing down he had gotten from Burkhalter, and one day he determined he would make that one pay for his tone and his insinuations.

He didn't remember much else, but he remembered that idiot Carter chattering away like a runaway steam engine during that interview, and somehow knew that all he had endured, was now enduring was somehow Carter's fault. 

Well, along with Hochstetter's idiot cousin, Krueger, but he'd already taken care of THAT situation. Cousin Krueger was out of his hair for good, thanks to that so-helpful Lieutenant Schmidt (now Captain Schmidt).

He had made sure to visit with his Uncle Gunter, offering a warm, sympathetic pat on the shoulder for the loss of Gunter's youngest son, explaining that he had done everything in his power to get poor Krueger out of that shocking reassignment to the Russian Front, but alas, has not been able to manage it in time. It was SUCH a shame Krueger had decided to play some foolish game on that train just as it was going over that overpass. Well, he had reminded Gunter that it had been just such a foolish game that had led Krueger into trouble in the first place. 

"Such high spirits, such an adventurous nature, my poor cousin!" 

He'd almost gagged on the words, had to fight to keep that sympathetic look on his face, but Uncle Gunter could never know what had truly transpired. He would most likely not take it well, and people ended up dying when Uncle Gunter didn't take something well. Wolfgang Hochstetter had no desire to become one of those people.

There was talk, at least at first, both about just what HAD happaned that night and afterwards, but he'd quashed most of that, stared down those he couldn't just order to shut up (except for that fat fool Burkhalter, who didn't take to either quashing or to taking orders of any kind from a major, even a major of the Gestapo!). 

Burkhalter he couldn't touch, not yet anyway, not until the general made a misstep. Once he did, of course, Hochstetter would be waiting, eagerly. 

Sergeant Carter, though, that was a different matter; he should have been able to deal with him NOW, snatch him up and force some answers from him, some punishment on him, except that Hochstetter had been given stern orders by General Burkhalter to keep his nose out of the running of Stalag 13. 

Had even had the temerity to tell him, "leave matters at the Stalag to Kommandant Klink, Major. It IS his job, after all, and you have your own matters to see to, I should think. Somehow, and do not get me started on the unlikelihood of that, he DOES seem to have things well in hand. It seems, to my recollection, that when you attempt to get involved, it never goes well, Major. No, confine yourself to your own affairs. Perhaps spend some time shopping for a new hat?"

Yes, one day he would relish wiping the smirk off that pudding of a face!!

Now he looked at the three small vials in the blue felt-lined case sitting in the middle of his desk. 

"And what does it do?" he asked, looking up at the hunched little man in glasses and dark gloves standing in front of him.

"That is what you are going to help determine, Major Hochstetter, if you would. We know what it is SUPPOSED to do, what it in theory DOES, but our experiments have all been on individuals of the Germanic race. It is theorized that different races, different ethnicities will have differing responses to the drug. That makes it essential that we run additional experiments before placing the substance in the water supply or food chain of a particular country, a particular locality. We will perhaps have to tailor each specifically to have the result we require.

"In order to maximize its efficiency, we need to test it on various individuals. We are taking care of that where we have subjects readily at hand. However, it occurred to us that those in the prisoner of war camps would provide a much broader spectrum. We are particularly interested in how those of mixed-ethnicities might react. There are certain countries where that is becoming woefully common, as you know, where blood lines are no longer being kept pure. Great Britain, America are of particular interest.

"We attempted to go through channels, getting access to those individuals in the Stalags, but for some reason we are finding some resistance. Some nonsense about the Geneva Convention, I believe. It occurred to us that the Gestapo might be less concerned about such trivialities. In the name of furthering scientific knowledge and the goals of the Third Reich, of course."

Hochstetter snorted his disdain for those who would put that ridiculous document ahead of the goals of the Third Reich, though he could care less about 'furthering scientific knowledge' as a motivation. 

Those scientists! - always making their pronouncements, thinking they held all the answers because of their education, their studies. HE needed no such studies. HE had a natural instinct for science. For mathematics also, come to think of it. He had always felt a little sorry for those who had to be TAUGHT such things when to him it came on such an intuitive, basic level. But then, they were merely scientists, after all. HE was a genius - his mother had always told him so! Very much like his Uncle Gunter, except that HE was stable, and Uncle Gunter - well, perhaps not so much.

Leaning back in his chair, he thought, considered, and a smile of such overpowering malice came to his face that the visitor smiled in satisfaction.

"You have thought of something, perhaps someone. It would appear we have come to the right man, Herr Major."

"Indeed you have. And I know just the individual to test this on. He is of mixed-blood. He has always been most eager to help me in my endeavors, even goes out of his way to do so; I am sure he will be equally helpful in this one."

"Remember, it is important he not know he is being tested, so first you administer THIS," holding up a separate case also containing 3 small vials, but this time lined with green felt, along with a packet of injection needles. 

"First the green, wait ten minutes for it to take effect, for his mind to become foggy, then the blue. He will not remember either injection due to the effects of the green. Let him go about his regular activities, but make sure he is observed, any deviation from his normal behavior recorded carefully. Let twenty-four hours pass between administering each of the three doses. Then, twenty-four hours after the LAST dose, collect him and we will see what he can tell us, what we can learn about the efficiency and the overall effects.

"Did you 'urt yourself, Andrew?" Newkirk asked, watching Carter frowning down at his upper arm, massaging it yet again for what had to make the fourth time in the past ten minutes. That wasn't like Andrew; he got banged up lots, but usually shrugged it off pretty easily. 

"No, at least I don't remember. I think it's probably just a bug bite or something." 

Well, there were enough bugs around camp to make that a reasonable assumption. The delousing the men were put through kept some of the vermin population down, but nothing really got rid of it.

"Best let me take a look w'en we're finished 'ere, make sure it's nothing out of the usual," Newkirk told him, rearing back to get another look at his cards. It was good to get back to the boredom of their usual routine, now that the Gestapo had driven out the gate. They had spent far too much time here for anyone's peace of mind.

Carter shrugged, accepting that offer but not intending to remind Newkirk of it later if he forgot, and put his mind back to the card game. He had the right cards to lay down for gin already, but he was enjoying Newkirk's long meandering story of one of his London exploits, and they'd all agreed this was to be the last game before getting started with the work details, so he didn't want to pull the plug too soon. 

Besides, he was trying to let that buzzing in the back of his head go away. He for sure needed for that to happen before the Colonel got back and explained their next mission. Maybe he would get to use one of those new bombs he'd just made!! The thought of that took his mind off the bug bite, and his laying down the cards for "gin!" took Newkirk's mind off it too. 

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew! 'Ow do you DO that??!" Newkirk was the dealer, he could have sworn he knew which cards he'd dealt Andrew and it sure wasn't the ones the sergeant was laying down with that so-smug grin!

*  
Newkirk was busy annoying LeBeau with his description of what he would consider the perfect meal for the Frenchman to prepare. LeBeau, in turn, was proclaiming that hell itself would freeze before he sullied his cookware with bangers and mash, and mushy peas, and he had no idea what a treacle tart was but since it was English, it was probably just as disgusting as the rest of that menu sounded. 

Kinch was trying to work on that new code London had dropped into the mix, with Olsen giving him a hand. 

Carter just didn't feel like joining in on either, though under most circumstances he would have found the Newkirk/LeBeau squabble funny, and the code-breaking intriguing.

In fact, he really just wanted to be alone with his increasingly depressing thoughts, he decided, and headed out to the compound. 

{"Besides which, they probably don't really want me around, anyhow. I bet I'd just get in their way."}

The compound was pretty much empty that time of day, most over at the mess hall or in the rec hall, or settling in to their barracks. Still, he didn't want any conversation with any stray individuals, so he slid around the side of the buildings til he came to the spot where he'd decided to do his thinking. Or maybe it was the spot his thinking had drawn him to.

"Andrew, come away from the well housing. The edge is not secure enough for you to perch there." The familiar voice was softly encouraging, but still firm. 

"Mom? But I CAN'T come down! I need to go down after Jody! He fell in and he's gonna drown if I don't! And Aunt Irene will get mad and she'll go away, and you'll be sad, and it'll all be my fault!" 

His lower lip was trembling, and tears flooded his eyes.

The woman in the worn dress of brown homespun held out her hand to him from where she was sitting on a nearby bench.

"Andrew, my dear, come here. Sit beside me. There's something I need to explain, and I need for you to listen, very, very hard. Will you promise to do that for me?"

Andrew nodded, stifling a sob. Well, he always HAD done pretty much whatever his mom had asked him to do, and he'd never knowingly broken a promise he'd made her. He made his way over, sat down, and listened, all the while thinking how great it was to have her here, her arm tight around his shoulders. How great to smell that lilac talcum powder she always used. And just a little about how odd it was that they were almost the same size. When Jody had drowned, Andrew had been so small that he barely reached above his mom's knees.

He was sitting there, thinking over what she'd said before she'd left, trying to reconcile what she'd told him with what he remembered, when a voice broke into his thoughts. 

"Ei, Andrew, don't be sitting out 'ere by your lonesome! LeBeau's ready to dish up w'atever godawful French mess 'e's put together, and you don't want to miss out!"

"Yeah, I'm coming."

"W'at were you doing anyway," Newkirk asked curiously.

"Just thinking about something that happened a long time ago, and something my mom told me," he replied, but didn't elaborate. 

Newkirk gave him a puzzled look. That was a very un-Andrew thing, just saying those few words and not turning it into a very long, very convoluted story. Still, once they were back inside, the young sergeant seemed to snap out of whatever mood he was in, and was soon chattering away. But NOT about anything that happened a long time ago OR about what his mom had told him.

In the guards' barracks, the newest guard was busy making notes in a little pocket diary.

**Journal Entry: Subject seems dejected, avoiding the others. At one time, it appeared he might be having suicidal thoughts, perhaps considering casting himself down the well. However, it lasted but a few minutes. Afterwards he sat by himself for awhile, talking to himself. Unfortunately I was unable to get close enough to hear what he was saying. I will find an opportunity to administer the next dose in the morning.**

*  
Andrew couldn't get it out of his mind, that incident last month, when he'd been too far away to keep LeBeau from getting roughed up by the driver of that supply truck. {"If it hadn't been for Newkirk and the Colonel getting there so fast, he could really have been hurt! If I can't keep them safe, what good does it do, me being here??!"}

"Grandson? Why are you sitting there staring into the dust?"

Andrew looked up at his grandfather, one of the wisest men he'd ever known, standing there in those familiar buckskins, his worn pipe in hand, just as it mostly always was. 

"Just thinking. Wishing I knew . . ." his voice trailing off.

"Wishing you knew what, Little Deer?" 

Obviously the old man had no intention of letting the matter drop. Well, he never HAD been one to let go once he latched onto something, especially where his favorite grandson was concerned.

"Wishing I knew why. Why I'm here. Why we're all here. And what's gonna happen. And if we're ever gonna go home, any of us. I'm really tired of seeing people get hurt, seeing people die, Grandfather, and I don't think I can handle it if one of these times, it's one of the guys. Peter, or LeBeau or Kinch or Olsen, the Colonel too. Especially Peter, ya know? But I don't know how I can stop it, if it comes to that. I mean, maybe I shoulda just kept going when the Colonel sent me out that first time. It's not like I'm doing all that much good. Maybe I should just ask him to send me back, bring in someone who'd do more to help, could keep them safer." 

His face was more than a little woebegone, more than a little lost, and his grandfather chided him gently, tapping him on the chin to make Andrew meet his stern, dark eyes.

"You are here because you have a job to do here, grandson. And you are doing what no one else could do, filling a place no one else could fill. And if death should reach out open arms to gather in one of those you treasure, will that death be any easier for EITHER of you, you OR them, for your NOT being at their side?

"Come, walk with me. We will gather what you need to make your time more profitable. A new friend was generous enough to show me this; I think you will find it a worthwhile thing. A thing that will show you what you need to see, need to understand, for the good of those you care for, and for yourself."

And so Andrew arose, and together he and his grandfather gathered yellow sand from where they were building a new barracks, and black charcoal from the place they dumped the ashes from the stoves, and fine bits of green thread they plucked from that frayed blanket in the infirmary, and a handful of brittle red leaves from the bushes outside Klink's quarters.

"This isn't something I remember doing before, Grandfather," Andrew puzzled, as his grandfather crouched crosslegged and explained what Andrew was to do. He knew some of the tribes used sand painting, but not the Sioux, not that he had heard anyway. 

"The medicine wheel is used differently among the different tribes, but it is not unknown to us. This is of the Navajo, and will make it easier for you to see and understand. It is done in this manner . . ."

Kinch had watched as Carter wandered the compound, picking up this and that, filling first his handkerchief, then a small pouch, finally his pockets. At the same time Kinch was keeping an eye on Brewer, a new guard who seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in the young Sergeant's activities the last day or so.

Once Carter settled back in that patch of dust near the kennels, Kinch made his way quickly back to the barracks. He looked around for who was available.

"LeBeau, go keep an eye on Carter, will you? Him AND that new guy, Brewer, the guard with the scar on his cheek. I would have stayed, but I didn't want Brewer to realize I'd spotted him following Carter around. Over by the kennels."

LeBeau raised questioning eyes, but quickly set aside the sock he was trying to darn and headed out the door. It was rarely a good thing when one of the guards took particular interest in any of the men.

Kinch paused, thinking, then resolutely knocked on Hogan's closed door. At the call to come in, he briefed Hogan and Newkirk on what little he knew, the little he suspected was happening, though he didn't have a clue as to why.

Hogan pulled on his jacket, told Newkirk and Kinch to trail along behind, but not too close, and headed out to find their explosives expert.

"Carter? Are you okay?" Hogan asked, having stood and watched Carter squinting down the dust in front of him. Obviously from the start the sergeant gave, he'd been totally unaware the colonel had walked up.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure, Colonel. Just doing some thinking. Did you need me for something?"

Hogan gave a relieved smile at that; Carter seemed much as usual.

"Nothing special, just wanted to be sure you were alright. You've been awfully quiet the last day or two."

"Just thinking, like I said; trying to figure some stuff out." 

Reaching down, he gently erased the multi-hued circle on the ground, then got up, dusted off his pants and headed over to talk to the dogs. 

Hogan watched him go, glanced over to see the new guard peeking around the corner, never taking his eyes off Carter. Yes, something was going on. Now, just to discover what.

Brewer felt the eyes on him, looked up to see the Senior Prisoner of War watching him. He flushed, {"I shall have to be more careful; the major will be most annoyed if I am discovered."}

Back in the guards' barracks, he crouched over the small book, making his notes.

**Journal Entry: Subject again seemed depressed, sitting for some time staring down at the ground. He also seemed disoriented, as he spent time wandering aimlessly, picking up bits of rock and handsful of sand and leaves and other odd items, before returning to sit in that same spot again. He seems to be reverting to childhood, as he spent considerable time making pictures and designs on the ground with what he had gathered.**

*  
Carter rubbed his arm thoughtfully. He sure would be glad when that bite stopped hurting. He'd be glad when his head would stop hurting too; it had made the climbing of the ladder all that much more difficult.

He wasn't sure what had drawn him to this spot, only the need to be up high, someplace he could breathe, spread his - wings? Each step upward released some of the tension, made him remember watching the birds soaring overhead, wishing he could do the same. Now, it seemed a real possibility, if he just thought on it hard enough. 

He gave a tentative movement, wondering how his arms would have to fit to make that happen, trying to figure out if his legs would be involved, like with swimming, or whether they would just dangle. 

Now at the highest point, he decided it was time to give it a try. He braced himself, poised his arms, his legs and . . . 

"Andrew! Dear heart! What on earth do you think you're doing? You're not a bird, you know, to take off and fly over the fence! Though even if you could, those guards will certainly shoot you down as they would a pigeon if they had a taste for game pie! Come, my dear, sit on that rung instead of standing on it, and talk to me and tell me what is going on," the redhead urged. 

"Caeide?" he frowned, puzzled, as he turned from his precarious stance facing outward on the very edge of the top rung on the ladder of the water tower. HE was standing, had been experimentally flapping his elbows, seeing if they were up to making that flight he was picturing in his mind. SHE was standing, as well, though he couldn't see anything for her to be standing ON. It was almost as if she was hovering in mid-air, all that way above the ground.

{"Huh. I didn't know she could do that! What didn't Peter ever mention that, that she could fly??! Or at least hover! Wow! Maybe she can give me some pointers!!"}. 

Somehow, that she should be here, at Stalag 13, when she should have been home at Haven, didn't surprise him so much; it was the flying part that was the most interesting.

It was with some disappointment he heard her chuckle at his request, but deny such an ability.

"Nay, I haven't the knack for flying, Andrew. That would be my younger sister. Let's just say I am 'adaptable', when the need is great enough, and the one in need is perhaps open to the possibilities."

Her voice grew more stern, though still warm and caring. "And the need apparently is indeed great, my dear Andrew. And YOU are FAR too open to the possibilities, and not only of your own accord. 

"Who has been tampering with you, and is there a reason you did not tell Peter, ask him for help in withstanding such? The hand of a friend can be powerful in such matters; surely you know that; your grandfather would have taught you that."

He didn't answer, though that was true, of course - was lost in his sudden realization - 

"Caeide, you know they don't really like us to have visitors - I didn't even know we COULD have, from back home, I mean. But I've had a whole bunch the past couple of days! Well, before that, there was Major Hochstetter, though he didn't really say what he wanted." 

He frowned, "and I just remembered - he poked me, hard! In the arm. I didn't think that was very nice, but I guess for him, it was probably as nice as he gets. And the new guy, Brewer, he poked me too, in the very same spot! TWICE even! I don't know why, and that's kinda annoying, ya know? Though, I mean, I guess I kinda get Hochstetter doing it; he's Gestapo, you know, and they're just not very nice people."

"Aye, so I've heard. And your other visitors? Who were they?" she asked.

That frown turned to a bright smile, then faltered, remembering both had given him a scolding. The smile crumpled, and her heart ached for his sadness. She wasn't sure she had the reserves to touch him, to hold him to her heart and offer comfort as she longed to, and decided to wait, at least for now, before trying.

"Well, my mom showed up to scold me for sitting on the edge of the well. I didn't know why, not at first. I mean, why I was there, since I really don't like water. Well, other than to drink and make coffee and soup and stuff like that. And to wash, of course. Boy, that's one of the things I really miss, you know? Baths, I mean. Even in that metal washtub before we got indoor plumbing, that really felt good!"

She waited patiently, knowing all she knew of the young man, from her own experience and what she knew from Peter, that he did tend to draw things out, and when it seemed he'd run down, she urged him on.

"Did you figure out why you were sitting on the edge of the well, Andrew? Did your mother say anything, perhaps, to give you a hint?"

There that frown was again. "I remember. I was thinking about my cousin, Jody." 

Andrew raised sorrowful eyes to meet hers. 

"He killed himself, when he was sixteen. I shoulda saved him, Caeide. I mean, I saw him climb up on the side of the well, heard him saying it didn't matter, that no one would care anyway if he just disappeared. I should've stopped him, but I didn't. I mean, I ran for help, but it was like it took forever, and it was just too late.

"Mom said it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have stopped him, and it wasn't my fault they couldn't save him, even if I'd been twice as fast, cause he broke his neck when he fell. She said, besides which, I was only three going on four, and Jody was sixteen, and I did everything I could have done, trying to go for help. But all of a sudden I got to thinking about how it seems like I COULDA done more. If I'd just crawled up there and held him back, or jumped in after him, maybe I could have."

Now she wasn't several feet away, she was right in front of him, her warm hands on either side of his face, looking him straight in the eye. She no longer wondered if she COULD, she only knew she MUST.

"Your mother was right, Andrew. You were too young, too small to have saved him. You couldn't have held him back. And if you'd gone in after, you would have drowned as well."

He flushed, looked down into nothingness. "Yeah, maybe, but all of a sudden, it only seemed like that would maybe be fair, you know? Cause he was my mom's sister's only kid, and she moved away after that and I never saw her again, and neither did my mom, and the other day, I realized it was all my fault. 

"And I kept thinking about that, and the well was right there, and it seemed like maybe I could do it over, and this time, maybe I'd get it right. And if I couldn't, I mean, if I couldn't save Jody, maybe I can't save anyone else, and maybe it would be better if I just disappeared too."

"NO, Andrew. There's no do-overs for something like that. And not being able to save your cousin when you were three doesn't mean you can't and DON'T do a great deal of good now. And having you disappear would only make SO many people sad. I want you to promise me, you won't try anything like that again. Why," and her hand grazed gently over his hair, "what would Peter do without you?"

He flushed, "he has LeBeau, and Kinch, and everyone else. He doesn't really need me. He wouldn't really care if I wasn't here; none of them would." If he realized he was repeating Jody's words, at least in their essence, he didn't show it.

"Aye, there are the others, but they aren't YOU, Andrew. They can't replace you. Tis YOU Peter needs beside him, you he depends on. It's YOU I depend on, Andrew, for looking after him."

Carter blinked, thinking all that over, and his face brightened once again.

"Hey, you know, that's kinda what my grandfather said. Oh, yeah, he came too, yesterday, and showed me how to do a sand painting. Of course, we had to use other stuff cause we didn't have all the different colors of sand, but it was real neat! He made a new friend, a Navajo medicine man, after he, uh, well, 'moved on', and learned it from him. We sat and made a medicine wheel in the dust, and he showed me lots of neat stuff, about how a lot of what you never think is connected, really is. And how the medicine wheel lets you see that sometimes."

"And he talked to you of Peter?" 

At least this seemed a more positive vein than anything else she'd heard since she'd arrived so unexpectedly and totally unprepared.

{"One minute you're milking the cows, next minute you've gone visiting! Life can be SUCH a wonderment sometimes!"}

"Well, sure! That's what HE said, too, that me and Peter are connected! And that it was my job to look after Peter, and his to look after me while we're here. And after we're not here anymore, well, we'll STILL end up looking out for each other. And there was Olsen, and Kinch, and Schultz and Langenscheidt, and Peter's friends from the pub, and a whole bunch more, all connected."

She nodded, having more than a little knowledge of such things, the Clan using such along with many other means of determining what was and what could be.

"And were there other visitors?" she started to ask, when Carter glanced down at the commotion at the front gate and groaned and whispered, "Hochstetter. He just pulled in the gate."

"Then you'd best get back down this ladder and back with your friends, Andrew. Think quickly and smoothly, and do what you do best, my sweet Andrew. Remember - there is more than one way to win a battle, and confusion is your strength! And no more wells and trying to fly and such, promise?"

He nodded, as he scurried down the ladder and back to the barracks. 

"I promise," he flung behind him as he neared the door.

"You promise what, Andre?" LeBeau asked. "But non, you shall tell me that later. For now, come inside, quickly. We must hear what that sale boche wants."

Brewer had watched as the young man stood at the bottom of the water tower, staring upward, then proceeded to climb that tall ladder attached to the side. He held his breath as Carter reached the top and turned to face outwards, staring into the sky, making some odd movements with his arms.

{"Is he going to cast himself off?? Yes, I was right. Depressed, suicidal. The major will be disappointed that he was not able to question him as he wished. Perhaps I should . . ."}

Before he could move into the open, to shout up an order for Carter to come down, he saw the subject sit on the top run, seemingly having another one of those conversations with himself. Now he wasn't sure if he should shout a demand or not, or just let it play out. And then it was too late to do either, for the camp gates swung open and Hochstetter's staff car pulled through, and Andrew Carter scurried down that ladder and back to his barracks as if he indeed DID have wings.

"But Major Hochstetter? WHY do you wish to see Sergeant Carter?" 

The confusion on Klink's face was not feigned. He had been told by Schultz about Hochstetter spending that long evening drinking and talking with Carter, suggesting they become friends. HE was convinced it was Schultz who had been drinking, for nothing was more unlikely! Then Langenscheidt had reported Hochstetter and one of his men pulling Carter into a brief conversation during his visit only three days ago, although Hochstetter had only sputtered and growled something about "I did not like the way he was staring at me."

Now Hochstetter removed his gloves, slapping them into one palm briskly. "That is not your concern, Klink. Have him brought to me immediately. No, before that, you have a new guard, Brewer. I have heard interesting things of him. Have HIM brought to me first, THEN I will see to Sergeant Carter! NOW, Klink!"

"Brewer? He's the one we saw watching Carter. Has he approached you, Carter, asked any questions, said anything to you?" Hogan asked.

Carter could only shake his head 'no', not having been conscious of being watched. {"You'da thought I would have known, but with everything going on, everyone showing up . . ."}

He realized he hadn't told the colonel, the guys, not even Peter about the visitors he'd had over the past few days, and now it looked like he wasn't going to have time to do that, not with Schultz coming in through the door looking for him.

"Carter, Major Hochstetter says he must speak with you. I do not know what it is about. Perhaps it would be best if you came too, Colonel Hogan?" the old soldier suggested warily.

"You know, Schultz, I think I just maybe will do that," Hogan said, grabbing his cap, and motioning Carter ahead. He cast a quick glance back at the worried men, giving a quick jerk of his head indicating they should be listening at the coffee pot 'just in case'.

Mueller was just leaving when they arrived, a smug, satisfied look on his face. He didn't bother to look at Carter; after all, he had done his job, the major was pleased with him, and that was all that he was concerned with. 

"Klink! I did not send for this man! What is he doing here??!" Hochstetter erupted at the sight of Colonel Hogan.

"Now, Major, if you're going to talk to Sergeant Carter, it's only right I'm here with him," Hogan responded smoothly, full of confidence. 

Unfortunately, it was confidence misplaced, as it took only one screeched order to have the colonel escorted out, NOT back to the barracks to join his men, but to stand, frustrated, in the compound outside, under guard by two of Hochstetter's men. It seemed if he was going to find out what happened in there, it would have to be from Carter himself, or one of his men listening at the other end of that coffee pot.

"So, Carter," Hochstetter purred, abruptly shifting modes from threatening to that 'let's be friends' one he'd introduced to Carter back in October. "How have you been? A little bird told me that you were feeling a little downhearted, perhaps? I did not like to hear that, not of one of my newfound friends. Come, sit, drink, tell me," he urged, motioning Carter to a seat on the small sofa adjacent to where he was sitting.

Carter nodded agreeably, broad smile on his face. "Gee, thanks, major! A drink sounds really nice! But, I think that little birdy might have it wrong. Oh, I've been, well, I guess you might say, 'thoughtful' for the past few days, but that's just to be expected. I mean . . .

{"Boy, I sure hope this doesn't SOUND like I'm making it up as I go along!"} remembering Caeide's hurried advice.

And Hochstetter gritted his teeth and heard all about the Native American ritual of mystical communing with far-flung friends and family at this particular time of the year. 

{"Was he hallucinating, due to the drug? Or IS it part of something from his culture that we do not have enough information to judge? Brewer thought it was the first, but now I am not so sure."}

He heard all about how Carter's mom had come to offer him some words of wisdom, after he'd done some required water-gazing into the well. 

"Well, a pond or a lake would have been better, of course, but I didn't figure the Kommandant would let me go so I could do that. So the well was the next best thing. Cause water, that's a female thing, you know. And it worked, cause there she was, my mom, I mean. We had a real good talk too!"

{"Yes, as I thought, a mother-complex of the first degree! And it would account for what Brewer thought had been an aborted suicide attempt. "}

He heard about Carter's grandfather, a medicine man, who had come bearing gifts and wise council. He heard all about medicine circles and patterns made in the dirt, "because earth is a male thing", and much else Hochstetter had no interest in, except that it tallied with one of Brewer's descriptions.

And he watched as Carter blushed, "and a, well, a kinda special friend, showed up. That was really neat, cause I wasn't expecting her. Having a lady come visiting, that's really something special. Not that my mom isn't a lady, you know, cause she is, but well, you know what I mean. I kinda had to find a spot that was a little more private for us to have a quiet little talk - I decided on the ladder over by the water tower, the very top, so I could point out stuff to her. And because air is kinda a special category of its own." 

The blush turned into a sheepish flush, and an embarrassed hunching of those narrow shoulders.

Hochstetter quickly ran through all he'd learned of the young man, his records, those prior visits. "A lady, Carter? This Mary Jane you spoke of? It was she who came to visit with you?" he asked tentatively, trying to make SOME sense of all he was hearing.

Carter shook his head, "aw, shucks no, Major! Mary Jane, well, she was just a girl I liked, back when I was just a dumb kid! No, this was a real SPECIAL friend! Someone I met, well, later, after I left home. I call her 'Fee-Fee' sometimes. Welll, just inside you know," tapping the side of his head, "cause it would be kinda rude to give her a special name unless she said it was okay, you know. And she never said it was."

"Ah, she is French, then, this lady of yours," Hochstetter smiled a cunning smile. "Perhaps a member of the Underground? Perhaps here locally? She is someone you meet sometimes when you go outside the camp?" {"Now I am perhaps getting somewhere!"}

Carter looked shocked. "Gosh, no, nothing like that! Heck, how would I get outside the camp, unless I'm on a work detail or something like that??! And the Underground?? Sheesh, she wouldn't have any idea about any of that! No, she's well back out of the fighting. She lives on a farm, grows stuff, vegetables and fruit and things like that! And she's not French at all. Fee-Fee's just a nickname, you know, a short name! Like some of the folks back home call me 'Andy' instead of 'Andrew'. Of course, some folks called me some other things too, but mostly 'Andy'."

As confused as Hochstetter was at all this, the men listening at the other end of the coffee pot were just as confused. Well, maybe Peter just a little less than the others, since Andrew tended to blather on to him about his mum and his grandfather, though this 'Fee-Fee' was a new one on him. 

{"Aint 'eard Andrew even mention any 'Fee-Fee', not that I can recollect!"}

But it seemed like Carter hadn't wound down yet. "But 'Phelan Rhue' is just so long, ya know? Though it is really kinda pretty. It means 'red wolf', you know? Though, a 'Little Deer' having a friendship with a 'Red Wolf' does seem kinda odd, I know," and Carter giggled, taking another sip of his drink. "Kinda like the story mom would read sometimes, about the lion laying down with the lamb."

Newkirk felt a cold chill travel up his spine, all of a sudden getting more than a hint of just who Carter was meaning. A cold chill, and a sudden uncertainty. Well, it wasn't like he didn't WANT Andrew to like Caeide and vice versa, it was just . . .

Carter hastened to explain, "well, just general 'laying down', like two friends watching the clouds together, not anything like, well, you know!! And I don't mean she's MY lady, you know! I mean, not like . . . Well, YOU know! Geezo, no!! She's just a good friend! She wouldn't be interested in me, anyhow. See, I think maybe she's got a real thing for my best buddy, and that's good, cause I kinda think he's got a thing for her too, but he's kinda shy about telling her. But I figure after the war, it'll all work out. But still, she's someone good to talk to when you need someone like that; she's real smart, too, just like my mom!"

Newkirk settled back, relieved and ashamed of being relieved and embarrassed at everything that had crossed his mind. {"Well, acourse Andrew wouldn't 'ave thoughts in 'er direction! Though, that's all nonsense, too, the rest of it; not like she and me would ever be . . ."}

Hochstetter poured them both another drink, getting the depressing feeling this evening was going in the same direction as their LAST little 'bonding episode' had gone. Had those blasted drugs done NOTHING? Everything Brewer had reported seemed to be a part of this primitive 'communing' ritual the idiot was describing.

By the time Carter was escorted back to the barracks, Hochstetter was more than sure that the drugs had been a total failure. Well, he'd had a feeling they would be, that the scientists were quite wrong about the whole matter. He would take considerable pleasure in explaining that to them. They might not listen; scientists rarely did. 

But he knew he was right; after all, he had an instinct about such things. Just as he had an instinct, a talent, for revenge, somehow just knew he'd get another opportunity at that irritating American sergeant. {"I'll make him bleed! Him AND that annoying Englishman! Even if it takes until AFTER the war!"}

Epilogue - 

"Gin." Carter laid down his cards with a proud smirk.

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew! "Ow do you DO that??!" Newkirk fumed. 

Well, the other guys weren't all that thrilled, either; Kinch had a pretty good hand, and LeBeau had already been tallying the pot he was sure he was going to rake in.

Still, it was good to have things back to what passed for normal around the camp. Brewer, Hochstetter's mole, had been recalled to his last post, much to Sergeant Schultz' relief. As he expressed to Colonel Hogan, "there was just something about that Brewer, you know, Colonel Hogan? I do not think he was to be TRUSTED," he explained with a wise nod to his grizzled head.

Hogan had patted Schultz on his shoulder, "you know, Schultz, I think you just might be right."

Klink was still fielding the questions from General Burkhalter as to what Major Hochstetter had been doing at the camp so often. 

He complained about it to his Senior Prisoner of War. "As if I WANTED that man here!! Every time he shows up, there is some trouble! And this new friendship he seems to be forming with your Sergeant Carter, I wish you would dissuade the sergeant from encouraging that. I really do not think that is wise, you know? Although I will deny I ever said it, I really do NOT think Major Hochstetter is someone you would want for a friend!"

Hogan had nodded, sipping at the schnapps he'd helped himself to. "You know, Kommandant, I think you just might be right."

Making his way back across the compound, he thought over everything he knew about Hochstetter's 'new friendship' with Carter. No, it wasn't a good thing, but it wasn't like grade school, where he could put them on different sides of the room. 

If Carter wasn't so handy to have around, he might have considered getting the young sergeant transferred somewhere else, give Hochstetter somewhere else to focus his attention rather than Stalag 13. But Carter WAS handy to have around, enough that Hogan figured he'd just have to manage the situation as best he could. After all, Carter had some very valuable talents, as a chemist, an explosives expert, even with some of his impersonations. "A natural talent, in some cases." 

"At least," Hogan snorted as he pulled the collar of his jacket up a little tighter around his neck, "we all know he has a natural talent for confusion! And I'm pretty sure the kickback with the rest of the team would be enough to make things a little tense, at least for a little while. And we can't afford that, not with all we have on the schedule. Yes, I'm sure I'm right; I usually am."


End file.
